


'Tis the season to be jolly

by fancyfanstuff



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Baking, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/F, Fluff, Tis very sweet, Unbearably sweet almost, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:55:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21622561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fancyfanstuff/pseuds/fancyfanstuff
Summary: Emma gets invited for the Millses annual Christmas baking. Powdered sugar shenanigans ensue.Aka, one for all the sweet teeth out there.
Relationships: Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan
Comments: 18
Kudos: 84
Collections: Swan Queen Advent Calendar Collection 1





	'Tis the season to be jolly

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everybody and welcome! My, I am glad to be part of this amazing community and challenge and collection and FUN cause yup, fun I did have. My enormous thanks go to the SQACC team for organizing, and coming up with the idea for, this great activity. You guys rock! <3  
> Anyways, I wrote this very stickily sweet story and hope, very much, that it will not be just self-indulgent fluff ramblings but that will indeed sweeten your Christmas time too. On that note -  
> Happy reading and a Merry Christmas!

The card stood out brightly against the dull heap of work-related letters on Emma's desk. It was cream-coloured and covered in neat letters and it was the first thing Emma noticed upon storming into her office on Monday morning. She was late as per usual, the first snow of the year having delayed her further; still she stopped dead in her tracks for a second before approaching the post more carefully.

If the rich paper hadn't been a total giveaway, Emma recognized the handwriting immediately - it was the same script that was frequently scrawled across her reports when they came back from the mayor's office. ' _A bit more elaborate the next time, Miss Swan_ ,' or ' _No doodling in the margin on official papers, please_ ,' the last word underlined twice in what Emma pictured as a very irritated manner, all frowns and glares as the fountain pen skipped from the angry strokes to the immaculate signature.

' _Mayor Regina Mills_ ' was written even now in the bottom left corner, a sweeping R, an extra flourish to the y and g, just like Emma knew, and secretly liked it.

All familiarities ended there.

For one, the text started with ' _Dear Emma_ ', which Regina never called her in official affairs. And then it wasn't a 'friendly' reminder that Emma had forgotten to fill in some form or another but rather... an invitation?

Emma blinked. The snowflakes on her hair were slowly melting and she was dimly aware that she still hadn't taken off her jacket, yet her mind zeroed in on the delicate offer to bake Christmas biscuits with Henry and Regina. The wording alone was so unlike the usually so crisp mayor, careful and uncertain in a way that made Emma's lips lift involuntarily in a dopey smile, and her fingers traced the letters without her even noticing it.

When she did notice some minutes later - judging by the puddle of molten snow gradually forming around her boots - she slipped the card into her pocket, looked around quickly as if afraid somebody could have watched her, and then finally set to work.

* * *

She lasted until her lunch break before she pulled out her phone to call Regina. The last hours had felt like bubblegum, stretching out into seemingly endless amounts of minutes, while she'd shuffled around on her chair, more distracted with watching the clock than actually working. Eventually, _finally_ , both hands met on the twelve and Emma jumped up.

She forced herself to eat her sandwich first, taking her time chewing while the seconds ticked by. She refrained from pondering too much about why, but she wanted to appear casual on the phone, like she just happened to remember the invitation and hadn't spent her morning reciting the four lines from memory. It was only a goddamn baking session, she told herself, there was no reason to freak. Sure, it was Christmas baking, something she'd never done before, together with Regina and their shared son, like an actual family, again, something she'd never had before...

Okay, so maybe there was reason to freak. A very personal, very private reason that served to make her stomach flutter as she typed in the familiar number, and willed her heart to maybe race a little quieter so Regina wouldn't hear it over the phone. Emma was _not_ going to reveal herself as a total noob concerning Christmas traditions.

"Miss Swan?" Regina's voice rang out quite suddenly, crisp and efficient as ever, and Emma's heart skipped a beat. She suddenly realized that she had no idea how to even accept the invitation, how to be gracious enough as to not offend Regina, but modest too, not betraying her eagerness.

"Uh, hi," she said quickly, before the expectant silence could stretch out further. She could wing this, right? "It's Emma." She came to a halt there, waiting for Regina to acknowledge her, then, flushing immediately, realizing that she already had. So much for winging.

"Emma," Regina replied anyways, the syllables vibrating with amusement, and Emma could picture her sitting in that throne-like office chair of hers, smirking over her kale salad or whatever wholesome lunch she was having. The image only servedto intensify the burning of her cheeks, but Emma forced herself to remain calm.

"I'm calling because I got your invitation."

Although Regina must have been expecting her call - given that the creamy card had been dropped off at the station together with all the other organisational stuff from the mayoral office - Emma felt the atmosphere change almost tangibly. Where before Regina had been smug and superior, her murmur of "Oh, right," sounded almost as nervous as Emma felt.

The sudden mood swing comforted Emma immeasurably. She reminded herself that although Regina might have had a Christmas tradition with Henry before, that routine had probably been upset by the whole cursebreaking business and Henry's resent of his mother. In which Emma had played an involuntary role, so that this situation could very well be as bizarre to Regina as it was to her.

"So, what do you say?" Regina's voice startled Emma out of her thoughts and yes, it definitely sounded more insecure than usually. Emma felt a soft smile spread on her face.

"I'd love to come," she answered truthfully, not even feeling self-conscious about the strong expression, "Thank you for inviting me."

"Henry insisted," Regina replied, but she said it quietly and Emma's lie detector pinged. She bit down on her tongue to resist pointing it out. She suspected Regina knew she'd been caught anyways, because her next words were accompanied by the lilt of a smile, as though Regina was amused about her own attempt at fooling Emma.

"You'd better not demolished my kitchen though."

"I'd never," Emma grinned, then fell quiet, wracking her brain for something more to say before Regina ended the conversation. But she came up short and Regina, ever adamant about her work hours, presently wished her a good day and hung up.

* * *

The following two weeks were sweet torture for Emma. She was constantly alternating between worrying over the dwindling amount of days until the appointment and wishing the hours to pass faster because she couldn't possibly wait another minute. It was ridiculous, and she knew she shouldn't be obsessing over a simple baking session, but reason had never been her strength in this kind of situation and so she regularly caught herself being lost in a daydream.

The images her brain conjured ranged from embarrassing (forgetting a sheet with biscuits in the oven until they were well and properly burnt) over sweet (Henry complimenting her on her icing skills) to embrassing on a wholly different level (there had been a half-conscious moment one night when she had pictured Regina delicately licking batter off Emma's fingers - she hadn't been able to look the mayor in the eye during their town council meeting that day).

Seeing Regina around town had become a whole new experience. They had been civil to each other before, occasionally even nice - inviting each other in for coffee was a regular occurrence when they dropped off Henry at his weekly home each Sunday. Now, however, a tension accompanied those meetings, an underlying sense of anticipation that made Emma's heart race and Regina's gaze drop to the floor.

One day, Emma happened upon Regina at Granny's. She'd just wanted to get a coffee and had been halfway through her order when she caught Regina's gaze over the counter and her tongue got stuck somewhere between the two f's. Regina had looked beautiful as always, but that wasn't what captivated Emma. No, much more distracting than the formfitting blouse with its upper _three_ buttons popped open, much more distracting even than the hint of lace beneath, was the soft smile that spread on Regina's face as soon as their eyes met.

Emma had blushed furiously, then immediately berated herself for it as Regina's smile turned smug. Neither of them would break the gaze though, and a silent stare contest soon ensued, which only ended when Ruby passed through their line of sight. A knowing smirk had played on the waitress' lips when she handed Emma her coffee despite the abrupt order.

"Enjoy..."

If it was because of her ambiguous tone or the burning sensation of Regina's eyes still on her, Emma had left the diner feeling giddy and filled with more anticipation than ever.

* * *

December crept around at long last, the first, the second, and then finally the third with its long-awaited afternoon.

Emma, being Emma, ran late. In her defence, the delay wasn't entirely her fault. She'd been on babysit duty for her brother and Neal, the traitor, had decided to make the biggest poop in the history of mankind right before Mary Margaret was due to pick him up. So naturally, Emma had to save him from suffocating in his own excrements before the Charmings lost their heir and all would be lost.

That, at least, was the story Emma told Regina when she rang the bell in Mifflin Street, breathless mostly from running and only slightly from the displeased but still unmistakably fond frown on Regina's brow. The tale made her smile though, and so Emma wisely left out the part where Mary Margaret had explicitly told her to change the baby's nappies at religiously regular intervals but Emma had foregone the advice in favour of picking an adequate outfit for the day. Which she'd then torn off again in a hurry to change the kid.

But Regina didn't have to know how long Emma had stood before her closet to choose her favourite pair of jeans and a simple black turtleneck. All Regina had to do was sweep her eyes briefly up and down Emma and then bite her lip ever so slightly when she thought Emma wouldn't see, and the whole poop disaster was suddenly worth it.

Regina in turn wore a crisp white blouse and a black skirt that made her ass look positively fabulous, and she led Emma to the kitchen with what Emma was sure was an extra swing to her hips just to distract Emma. The worst thing was, it totally worked.

She first peeled her eyes off Regina when she caught sight of Henry leaning against the counter.

"Hey kid," Emma grinned, ruffling his hair just before he could duck away, "Ready to bake some good stuff?"

"You're late," Henry complained like the total son of Regina he was, but he grinned mischievously. "We almost started without you."

Emma gasped. "You wouldn't!"

Regina appeared next to her, fastening an apron around her slim waist. "It seems you are underestimating Henry's passion for baking. He hasn't thought of anything else for weeks."

'Neither have I," Emma thought, but out loud she said, "So why do we stand around and chat when we could be wrist-deep in dough by now?"

* * *

It turned out that there was very little actual dough to be had for the next hour. Emma had apparently been very wrong in most of her daydreams for good lord, baking took time. All the Christmas-y stuff they showed in films - cutting out biscuits, dusting them with powdered sugar, painting patterns in icing and chocolate sauce - differed fundamentally from the weighing of ingredients that Emma was doing for the majority of the time.

Regina was, unsurprisingly, meticulous in following her recipes. Her kitchen scales weighed accurate to the gram and both she and Henry were vigilant about Emma's attempts at 'winging it'.

"It's not like we're brewing a magic potion, right?" Emma joked after a while. She had, for the umpteenth time, been too energetic with the sugar and the display showed a whole 17 grams more than she needed. "A little adjusting here and there won't make any difference."

The two glares she received were murderous.

"Yes, it will," Henry said, incredulously. "Taste is highly susceptible."

"Highly what, please?"

"Don't listen to your mother," Regina weighed in with a disdainful sniff, " She clearly doesn't know one thing about baking."

Emma gaped. "Excuse you! I merely wanted to propose a time-saving measure."

"Proposal dismissed," Regina said simply, rolling her eyes when Emma gasped. "Miss Swan, do you have somewhere else to be today?"

"Well, no, obviously not, I just..."

Regina cut her off right there. "I, for one, very much enjoy this little get-together of ours. But if you want to leave again so soon, we must be doing something wrong."

Although all this was spoken in a mocking manner, there was an underlying seriousness to Regina's words, and her eyes were soft and questioning. At first, Emma almost felt bad for worrying Regina, but then she realized that she was genuinely being asked if she was enjoying herself. Emma's heart swelled.

"I just thought we'd be decorating cute little angels and santas by now," she replied a little ashamedly. "That's all."

The admission drew a laugh from Henry and even Regina chuckled.

"Don't worry," she told Emma, her hand lingering ever so briefly on Emma's shoulder, "There will be plenty of angels later. Just bear with us for a little while longer."

* * *

It was a long wait. After the preparation of six different doughs - plain, chocolate and cinnamon for the normal biscuits, a gingerbread one, which Regina composed from scratch with actual cloves and stuff, one totally different mix with almonds, and a special chocolatey mélange, that Henry told her would be rolled into small balls later - they continued with the icing, which, again, Regina mixed herself with loads and loads of powdered sugar.

Emma used the time to make coffee and slice some apples, and they took a short break, huddled around the kitchen table because there was "No Way" Regina was letting them sit in the dining room in their flour-covered clothes.

"I _could_ just magic us clean, you know," Emma proposed with a slight smirk. Regina entertained a strict no-magic policy in the kitchen, but Emma was fairly sure this didn't extend to personal looks, given that Regina, despite having worked more than Emma and Henry together, still looked immaculate and fabulous. Only the smallest tinge of red coloured her cheeks and in Emma's opinion, it only added to her beauty.

"I know you could." Regina put down her cup and mustered Emma. "But personally, I find this state of your hair just too endearing and would hate to see it go." She chuckled. "Did you know you have cocoa powder dusted all across your cheek?"

Emma flushed. "Really? Henry said I'd brushed it all off..."

Henry, who was already munching away at the apples, looked up with a grin. "Oops."

Emma stuck out her tongue at him and raised her hand to scrub her skin. Her palm came away brown. "Henry!" The kid, traitor he was, sniggered into his hot chocolate.

"Henry, stop disrespecting your mother," Regina admonished him, but her eyes were twinkling with hidden laughter and when she reached for Emma's cheek herself to brush off the last stains, she had to bite down on her lip to keep from smiling.

The sight was too adorable for Emma to stay angry or even embarrassed. Regina's fingers felt soft and warm against her skin, and Emma smiled openly back at her until Henry cleared his throat and Regina's hand fell away. The red of her cheeks deepened somewhat as she looked down on her coffee again and a hint of a frown appeared on her brow.

"Anyways," Emma hurried to say, sensing that Regina longed for a change of topic, "I never got to say thanks. For the invitation."

She felt rather accomplished when a soft smile returned to Regina's features. "It was Henry's idea."

"Actually," Henry piped up, "It wasn't. I asked if we could invite someone, you suggested Emma."

"Well, I assumed you meant Emma when you said someone. You liked the idea." Regina's cheeks were pink again. She wasn't looking at Emma.

"It was still your idea," Henry insisted and contrary to Regina grinned openly at Emma. "Not that I don't like you joining us."

Emma, who had watched the exchange with a rising feeling of giddiness - _Regina_ had proposed to invite _her_ \- forced a nervous smile.

"Gee, thanks for the love, kid."

"Always. Hey, I gotta go to the bathroom real quick, feel free to continue talking without me." And gone he was.

Emma hesitated as silence fell upon them, then nudged Regina's leg with her foot.

"I mean it. Thank you," she half-whispered, her voice hoarse and vulnerable enough to make Regina look up. Her eyes were deep ponds of brown, warm and open beneath the embarrassment. Emma swallowed and suppressed the urge to brush away a strand of dark hair.

"I've never baked Christmas biscuits before," she confessed quietly. Regina nodded.

"I figured." She sent Emma a quick smile. "I'm glad you came."

Emma bit her lip. "Thanks."

Her toes were still touching Regina's leg. Neither of them made a move to retreat.

* * *

The chocolate dough was amazing.

Emma discovered that purely by accident. She'd been instructed to take the bowl out of the fridge, and a small dollop of dough had clung to the plate Regina had used to cover it. It was only natural, a matter of her primal instincts so to say, that made Emma's finger reach out to taste it.

Huge mistake. The dough, though cold and still raw, all but melted on Emma's tongue, flooding her taste buds with delicious sensations. She almost moaned out loud, but caught herself just in time and only released a small sigh that was lost in the general bustle. So far, so good. The problem was only that the bowl of dough was still in her hands, exuding just the faintest fragrance of chocolate.

Emma swallowed. She eyed the creamy brown mixture, then looked around to see if anyone was watching her. Regina was busy regulating the oven, she wouldn't notice. Henry was nowhere to be -

"Told you it's delicious." Her son suddenly appeared next to her, a knowing smile on his lips. Emma jumped, sending Regina another glance but Henry had spoken quietly enough that she hadn't heard him.

"Shh," she still made, mostly to cover up the treacherous red that was creeping into her cheeks, "What are you talking about?"

Henry gave her an unimpressed look, then plunged his finger into the dough before Emma could pull away the bowl.

"My favourite," he whispered conspiratorially, grinning at Emma's flabbergasted expression, "Not least because it covers the tracks so well."

Indeed, the dough was just runny enough to flow together, filling up the hole that Henry had created. Emma allowed a delighted smile to spread on her face before she, too, sank her finger into the dough.

She was still licking her finger clean with relish - god, this chocolate taste - when Regina's sharp voice cut through the room.

"Miss _Swan_!"

She nearly dropped the bowl as she swivelled around. Regina's eyes were alight with indignation, and she was standing much closer than Emma had expected.

"It wasn't me," she burst out, except it sounded more like "Shwasnme" what with her finger still in her mouth. She hurriedly pulled it out. Damn.

Regina huffed as she snatched the dough from Emma's grip. She possibly looked more betrayed than when Emma had accidentally saved the life of her ex-boyfriend's wife.

"How dare you? How _dare_ you?!"

"The smell... chocolate... I had to... Henry!"

"Henry what?" The kid spoke up, innocent smile in place. "I didn't do anything wrong."

"What?" Emma gasped, "Sure you did!"

"Stop distracting the attention from yourself, Miss Swan," Regina interrupted, "Just confess your offence like a grown-up please."

"But - "

"No buts, did you taste the dough or not?"

Emma huffed but was forced to admit. "Yes. I'm sorry."

Regina's expression changed from cloudy to a blinding smile within a second. "So? What do you say?"

"...What?!"

Henry beside her started chuckling. Regina's eyes were dancing with amusement. Emma was beginning to feel like she didn't quite understand what was going on. She blinked.

"I..."

"What do you say?" Regina repeated, "About the dough. Too much chocolate?"

"There is no 'too much chocolate'," Henry chimed in. "It's perfect, like always. I'm sure Emma agrees."

Emma's brow furrowed when Regina's expectant eyes focused on her again, all trace of anger gone. "I... do? I mean," she cleared her throat, "What's going on?"

Regina threw back her head in a bout of laughter. "It's part of the tradition," she told Emma. "When Henry was younger, he used to eat a lot of raw dough, no matter how often I told him he shouldn't. So we made a deal; he was allowed to have a taste, as long as I didn't catch him. When I did, however, he would have to stop eating immediately."

"But if she accused me wrongly, I got like a joker, meaning I would have to be caught twice to lose the game," Henry added, grinning at Regina. "By the way, technically you haven't caught me yet. You only got _Emma_."

"Because _Emma_ seems to be atrociously bad at sneaking around. How the hell did you become sheriff?"

Emma bit her lip. She couldn't quite decide if she should be sulky or relieved or somewhere in between.

"The flavour caught me offguard," was what she settled for, fake-pouting at Regina. "The game was rigged, the dough was just too delicious."

"Oh, too bad," Regina drawled. She wore her trademark smirk, the one that never failed to send shivers down Emma's back. Emma scowled.

"Plus I didn't know the rules. I deserve a second chance!"

"Oh, do you now?"

Emma looked at Henry for support but the kid only raised his hands and shook his head. Great.

"...Please," Emma finally ground out, glaring when Regina's face split in a delighted smile.

"Good. Let's pretend I didn't catch you _in flagrante delicto_ ," - Emma rolled her eyes and Regina winked at her - "and get on with baking instead. There is a lot still to be done and I find the lack of discipline here disturbing."

"I find the amount of sexual tension disturbing," Henry muttered under his breath, and Emma choked. Luckily, Regina hadn't heard her son's utterly unwarranted comment, but Emma still resolved never to look at her again.

* * *

That was far more easily said than done though. Like. Regina was gorgeous, alright, but Regina _baking_ was a new level of beauty. The serenity with which she ruled all progresses, the omnipresence of her finishing touches, a sprinkle of flour here, a praising brush over Emma's shoulder there, and time and time again a soft instruction uttered.

Now, Emma really hadn't thought that the forming and cutting out of biscuits required much skill at all, and for most kind of biscuits that was probably true. But Regina Mills didn't bake like other people. Regina Mills demanded perfection.

Every angel - and there were indeed angel cutters in all forms and sizes - whose wings were tattered in the slightest, was carefully knead back into the mass of dough and spread out again. And spread out in fastidiously even thickness, peppered with flour and cocoa powder, before they were carefully lifted onto a baking sheet and baked for the number of minutes it said on the recipe.

It was almost enervating, and Emma half played with the thought of screwing up on purpose, just to see how Regina would react. But then, the biscuits were crisp and golden when they came out of the oven, and they smelled too heavenly for Emma to sabotage anything. Also - and maybe that was the main reason but _hush_ \- Regina seemed to revel in the seamless functioning of the endeavour. She was floating around, beaming, enjoying, and, as mentioned before, praising.

There was nothing wrong with Emma innocently craving Regina's praise, right? It was not like she was totally dependent on it, or like she was actively seeking out Regina's gaze - despite her promise - just to see the brown turn warm with pride or anything.

Okay, maybe it was exactly like that. But that didn't have to mean anything, right, that could just be due to Emma's general craving for validation, and this weird praise-from-your-boss kink she had developed recently, and... And the way Emma's legs turned into jell-o when Regina smiled, and the way her stomach fluttered, and her mood improved when she saw her... And oh. _Oh_.

"What was that?" Regina asked, and Emma realizes she had whispered the last word out loud. She jumped, fought against the instinct to turn towards Regina, towards her mouth somewhere behind Emma's ear, her touch on Emma's hips, her breath on Emma's cheek.

"Nothing," Emma forced out, her face burning. _Don't look at her, don't look at her, don't look at her_. She very carefully peeled away from Regina's hand and moved towards the sink. "I just... spilled something." A secret. To herself. Shit, Emma, breathe.

"Okay." Regina sounded vaguely annoyed. At least she hadn't picked up on Emma's faint tone and the fact that while she had turned on the tap, she made no move to out her hands under the running water.

"Are you okay though?"

Okay, scratch that last thought.

"Fine," Emma managed.

Regina's frown was practically audible. "No you're not. What happened?"

'I love you,' Emma thought. Out loud she said: "Can I eat one of the biscuits?" She needed sugar if she wanted to go through with this.

"They still lack icing th - "

"Please?"

Regina visibly swallowed when Emma finally turned around, her face still flushed and probably looking feverish. She nodded.

"Sure."

"But - " Henry began, but Regina cut him off.

"Henry, why don't you prepare another snack in the dining room for us? Take this plate with biscuits, they've almost cooled off, set them up nicely?"

Henry's eyes widened in surprise, then flickered towards Emma before he nodded. "Okay..."

"Thank you, dear," Regina called after him when he left the kitchen, then turned around to Emma, who was focusing hard on her biscuit. "Talk."

"Bossy much?" Emma murmured, but Regina didn't jump at the weak attempt to distract her. Her eyes were fixed unwaveringly at Emma, all soft browns and gentle questions.

"What's wrong, Emma, and don't say nothing because I _know_ you and nothing doesn't look the way you do."

"And how do I look?" Emma asked quietly, ignoring the way her stomach had fluttered when Regina'd put an extra emphasis on 'know'.

Regina sighed. "Nervous." Her voice was very tender, cautious almost. "What are you nervous about?"

And maybe it was the way she stepped up to Emma without actually coming too close, the way she offered support without pressuring, or maybe it was how her eyes never strayed from Emma's, that silent reassurance that she was there and she was listening, or maybe it wasn't any of those aspects at all or all at once, but Emma felt calm all of a sudden. Calm and collected and certain in what she was doing.

"You," she said, watching as Regina's eyes widened just a fracture, "us," and Regina's lips parted, "this," and Regina shivered under Emma's fingertips suddenly ghosting over her cheek. The tremble ran from her body into Emma's, through fingers, arm and heart.

"Is this okay?" Emma whispered, her insecurities returning when Regina stayed silent under the caress. "Should I stop?"

The shuddering breath Regina released flicked warmly against Emma's pulse point. "No." A pause, then soft lips followed the air and pressed against the sensitive skin. "Don't."

"How about this?" Emma stepped closer, a mere inch now separating their bodies, and tangled one hand in Regina's hair. It was soft and glossy and smelled of gingerbread spices. "Still okay?"

Regina hummed, leaning into the touch as her eyes fluttered shut. "Very."

"This?" Emma trailed her fingers down to Regina's chin, lifting it ever so slightly. Despite the day in the kitchen, Regina's lips were still immaculately painted and oh so inviting.

"Miss Swan," Regina's voice came out hoarse but still unmistakably irritated, "if you don't kiss me this very second, I swear - "

So Emma did. She all but fell forwards, crashing into Regina's body with the force of rainstorm, yet her kiss was light, tentative, exploring, brushing over Regina's mouth like a gust of powdered sugar.

Emma would lie if she said she hadn't imagined kissing Regina before. Back when she'd first come to town, there'd been sleepless nights and fits of rage when she'd pictured Regina under her, over her, ravaging, taking, fighting for control, for power. On Neverland, when they'd been forced to work together, when privacy was a luxury they could no longer afford, when days and nights were spent in closest proximity, Emma had dreamed of gasping, pulling, tasting, of unprecedented throes of passion in the never-ending jungle.

Emma didn't doubt Regina was capable of ravaging and passion alright. But today was different. Today was a first kiss - and Emma very much hoped it wasn't the last - and Regina was gentle. She was warm, she was soft, and she smiled against Emma's lips before she pulled back.

"Henry is next door," she whispered, and Emma grinned when she heard the regret in her voice.

"You don't want to scar him for life?"

"Emma!" Regina said indignantly, but her eyes were dancing with laughter and she leaned forwards to place a quick peck on Emma's lips. Then her smile turned smug. "He probably knows anyways. You look much happier than before."

"Yeah, guess what," Emma rolled her eyes, not quite able to hide the grin that was threatening to split her face in half. "All of a sudden I don't feel as nervous anymore."

Regina's eyes could not have been softer. "You don't?"

"Never again."

* * *

(Henry did, in fact, notice the moment he re-entered the kitchen, a suspicious crumb in the corner of his mouth. All it took was one glance at Regina, busying herself with the leftover dough, and one at Emma, who, idiot she was, sent him a thumbs-up. He just laughed though.

"Guess I'm not the only one who took a snack ahead of time."

Whereat Emma blushed profoundly and Regina gasped, " _Henry_!")


End file.
